


The Feast of Valentine

by Frumpologist, MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blood, Brief mentions of dub-con, Cult AU, Drama, F/M, Romance, Violence, but hopeful ending, not HEA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 20:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: The Feast of Valentine approaches, bringing with it a final opportunity to end High Priest Riddle’s reign of terror. Can Draco and Hermione stop him, or will Riddle and his cult rip their family apart?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Written for Triwizard Tournament Round 3, hosted by Dramione Fanfiction Writers. Thanks to the fabulous admins for moderating this event!

**Draco**

It was the way he looked at me—recognition and wariness battling in those wide, grey eyes—that strengthened my resolve to go through with it. He clung to Hermione, little hands bunched into her wool cloak. His gaze darted to the shadowed corners of the empty stables.

Belatedly, I remembered Hermione telling me of his fear of the dark. I wished I could fill the room with bluebell flames to make him feel safe, but it was far too dangerous, even this far away from the castle.

I stuck the quill between the pages of our journal and rushed across the straw-hewn ground to meet them. “Is everything set?” I cradled Hermione’s cheek, and she leaned into my palm, a tired smile gracing her lips. “Potter?”

“He’ll do it.” A grimace flitted over her features. “He still doesn’t like this plan—“

“Unless Potter can come up with something better,” I snapped, “we have to act now. Riddle’s power and influence grow by the day. The Feast is the perfect time to strike. He’s too protected otherwise.” I placed a hand on Scorpius’ white-blond hair, as soft and fine as the fringes of my ceremonial stole.

At my touch, Scorpius shied away, burying his face in the crook of his mother’s neck.

Hermione smiled at me sadly. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s just—it’s been a while since he’s seen you. He gets a bit shy around—“

“Strangers.” A wave of anger and disappointment crashed through me, flattening my tone. My hand fell limply at my side.

Hermione picked it up and raised it to her lips, pressing a warm kiss against my knuckles. Her touch made the ire and hurt ebb, replacing it with warmth and tenderness. I stepped into the space between us and grazed her lips softly, indulging myself in the comfort of her presence. The faint lavender scent of her skin drowned the staleness of the rundown stables. She whispered, “He loves you. We love you.”

I stored those words in my heart—the inflection of her tone, her feather-light touch on the corner of my lips. I knew I would need this memory to ground me for the coming events.

With a gentle sigh, Hermione pulled back, her cognac-colored eyes searching mine. “Are you certain about this? We can still talk to Dumbledore. The Order—“

“If the Order could have stopped him, they would have done it a long time ago. Dumbledore’s a fool to have waited so long, and Potter can’t get to him. Not with the Feast so close. Besides,” I murmured, caressing the top of my son’s head, “Potter has a more important job now.” Scorpius squirmed in his mother’s embrace.

 _He loves me_ , reminded myself, ignoring the pain of my son’s rejection. _We will do this, and then I’ll never have to see that cautious look in his eyes._

“Scorpius will be fine.” Hermione wrapped her free arm around my waist. “We will _all_ be fine.” There was a confidence to the set of her shoulders, the way she held her chin as if daring the world to prove her wrong. It was this quality that pulled me to her all those years ago, and it’s what had kept me tethered ever since. Her tenacity, her infinite well of courage—qualities I always had in short supply.

I closed my eyes, soaking in her presence like a flower under the midday sun. “Yes.” I held my family closer. “Yes, we will be.”

* * *

**Hermione**

I stood in the old stables where I had said goodbye to my son and his father. My eyes traveled around the stacks of hay where I’ve laid with Draco whenever we could spare time for each other. It wasn’t as often as I’d like, but that was the nature of this quiet war. Seeing the way that Scorpius reacted to his father, the fear in his eyes, broke my heart. That was not the life we wanted for our son. Something had to change. We would give up everything for our boy if it meant he might one day live in a world without such hatred.

I laid in the spot where Draco last held Scorpius. Eyes closed and biding my time. Straw poked out of the curls in my hair, chunks of dead grass smudged against the fabric of my dress. I looked as if I had been stumbling around in the forest all night. The dark circles under my eyes, however, were entirely natural. I was so tired, so ready for the inevitable end of the war against Riddle and his emphatic followers.

Heavy footsteps fall outside the old, rotted wooden wall that separated me from the outside world. A deep voice whispered harshly for everyone to stay quiet.

“This is the place,” he warned them gruffly. I pictured them tiptoeing around until they reached the door. It rattled on its hinges as if a great wind shook it. “It’s locked. She’s here.”

I swallowed around a dry lump in my throat. Too late to give up, too late to change my mind. I pictured Scorpius in my mind – the way his little hand curled around my finger, his gray eyes staring up at me and trusted me implicitly. This was for him – all for him. I rustled among the loose bits of hay and dirt that layered the ground.

The door of the stables shook once more. Light poured in, so harsh against the drab interior of the abandoned area. Their bodies cast vicious shadows as they entered the space. Labored breathing interrupted the silence; they’d been running for some time trying to find me. The thought brings a ridiculous feeling of joy to my soul.

“Hermione Granger.”

The voice, one I’d sparred with so many times before, belonged to Augustus Rookwood. He was a large man, tall and broad, with shaggy black hair and dead, black eyes. I heard he’d taken pleasure in ripping apart Tiberius Ogden for being part of The Order. I repaid him with a knife to the gut. It’s a pity he didn’t die.

I pretended to sleep. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life – willingly captured by the people who most wanted to see me dead. A boot collided with the side of my body and I exhaled a deep _oof_ as my body curled into itself. No use pretending I was asleep anymore. My eyes sprang open and I stared up at the four men around me. I knew all of their faces, had intimate knowledge of several of their injuries having inflicted many of them myself. Rodolphus Lestrange’s eye had never healed and he gazed down at me with an eye that was cloudy and white.

“This bitch owes me an eye,” he sneered angrily as he drew back his foot and kicked me hard in my lower back. “Riddle doesn’t need her eyesight. Let me take it now.”

Augustus leaned down and gripped underneath my arm. He dragged me to my feet and I halfheartedly struggled against his grasp. He squeezed tighter, so tight that my fingers tingled. Someone’s fist rammed into my stomach and I lurched forward. The little food I’d eaten spilled from between my lips as I tried to gather my breath.

“If we are paying back the heretic for her crimes, I will leave her with a scar on her throat.” No need to look up; I knew it was Yaxley. He nearly killed me years ago, but the knife Draco gifted to me on my birthday was hidden in a holster on my bicep. I wish I cut deeper and ended his life.

I told him as much and earned a bruise on my cheek. Blood dribbled down my chin and I spit a molar to the ground at his feet. Yaxley laughed as Augustus shook my body.

“Let’s get her out of here. We should be back to the High Priest by nightfall.”

He pulled me along until we reached his horses. Rope cut into the skin at my wrists as he wound it tight and bound me to the reigns of the horse. Augustus vaulted himself onto the back of his horse. I glanced up at him and raised my arms for him to pull me up. He leered at me with a sickening smirk on his face.

“You’ll be running next to the horse, wench.”

His group of ruffians jeered. The crack of a whip snapped in the air and Augustus’ horse took off like a shot. My legs couldn’t keep up, but I tried to keep pace. I ran like my life depended on it. I must get to the Death Eaters’ village.

I must see Draco again.

I must kill Tom Riddle.

* * *

**Draco**

Bouquets of roses sat at each end of the marble altar, their petals shriveled and brown. They filled the room with a heavy stench—a nauseating combination of sweetness and decay. I took shallow breaths through my lips, trying not to choke as the high priest chanted.

“...Blessed are we that You chose us, exalted us above the beasts of the world. You favored us from those without magic. You cleansed us from those with mud flowing in their veins.” Candlelight reflected off Riddle’s bald, oiled head as he bent in front of the altar.

Despite the cover of my hood, I schooled my features. Underneath a long-worn expression of boredom, worry and anxiety churned. I pinched the fleshy base of my thumb, trying to keep my attention on the present surroundings rather than what might have been happening elsewhere.

“Valentine, Love Eternal.” High Priest Riddle raised his hands towards the domed ceiling, his rich voice projecting through the congregation. “We beseech you. Keep us in Your everlasting heart.”

I mouthed along with the others. “Keep us in Your everlasting heart.”

Like a choreographed dance, we stood from our kneeling cushions and filed in a straight line. At the foot of the altar, Riddle said a blessing over each Disciple, his hushed words the only sounds in the chamber.

As I stepped to the head of the line, I lifted my gaze. High Priest Riddle stretched his arm towards me, wand ready in his hand. On the altar behind him, the flower-crowned skull of Valentine was nestled in red satin under a glass dome.

“May your heart be filled with our Lord’s eternal love.” The patches of skin above Riddle’s eyes, where his eyebrows should have been, twitched upward. His dark eyes flicked to my arm expectantly.

I pulled up my sleeve, revealing Valentine’s Mark on my pale forearm—a skull adorned with flowers, a faithful image of the relic on the altar. Riddle pressed the tip of his wand on the Mark.

“My heart is His alone,” I muttered as the blessing crawled over my skin like a ravenous spider. I spared a final glance at Riddle, who smiled beatifically, although his obsidian eyes flattened.

With a brief nod, I headed to the vestibule, keeping my pace even and unhurried as Riddle’s heavy gaze bore at my back. Past the doors, my father stood with his peers. I joined him, keeping a respectful distance until I was acknowledged.

Father nudged his chin, inviting me into their circle.

“There you are,” he murmured, fanning his fingers lazily towards his companions. “Our brothers bring auspicious news.”

My heartbeat raced; I braced myself for this ‘news’ that I had been waiting for. I lowered my hood, giving Brother Rookwood a questioning look.

He answered with a predatory grin. “The rumors were true. A Mudblood was caught in an abandoned stables just south of the castle. That Granger bitch. Filthy and scrawny,”—his beady eyes glinted with malice—“but she’ll clean up nicely.”

“Quite a pretty offering she’ll make,” added Brother Pettigrew with a revolting leer.

Anger bucked inside my chest, and I fought to rein it in.

As I felt my mask slip, Father drawled, “Take care, Brother Pettigrew, that you don’t sully our offering for the Feast of Valentine with your words.”

“Nor your actions,” I said, adopting my father’s haughty tone.

Father glanced at me sidelong, the corners of his lips turned down.

I pasted an imperious expression on my face as I turned back to Rookwood. “Is the Mudblood injured? We can’t present a maimed offering for the Feast. It would be an insult.”

“It’s none of your concern,” he sneered, although he glanced at my father to gauge the situation. Father’s face remained impassive.

I folded my hands in front of me, the long sleeves of my cloak covering my fingers. “The Feast is every Disciple’s responsibility.”

Rookwood growled, taking a menacing step towards me.

“True.” Riddle swept towards us, his red stole stark against his forest green robe. “The Feast is everyone’s duty and privilege.”

Our circle opened up, and we bowed our heads as our high priest approached.

Riddle reached out to us with upturned palms. “What is this disagreement among brothers?”

Rookwood opened his mouth to speak.

“Good tidings, Your Holiness,” I said before Rookwood could utter a word. “An offering has been found for tomorrow’s Feast.”

A smile slithered on Riddle’s face. “How fortuitous. Male or female?”

“Female.”

“Lovely,” Riddle murmured, “lovely.”

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “I’m concerned if the Mudblood will be fit to be our offering. Considering my brothers’,”—my gaze slid towards Rookwood and Pettigrew, who were both turning red—“ _tendencies_ to handle Mudbloods with a heavy hand.”

Riddle nodded thoughtfully. “I see.” He turned to the others, his fingers curling around the edges of his stole. “The offering is the most important part of our Feast. It is not the time to be careless. _Especially_ as you have failed to capture a single Muggle or Mudblood for weeks.”

Rookwood’s shoulders hunched minutely while Pettigrew shrunk even smaller. I stifled a triumphant smile.

“Brother Malfoy,” said the high priest. “Go and see the Mudblood. Prepare her for tomorrow.” He leaned forward, and I held his flat stare. “Just make sure she’s intact and can withstand the ritual. No need to inconvenience yourself with anything more.” His smile grew wider. “It _is_ a Mudblood, after all.”

I bowed my head swiftly before the murderous rage could reach my eyes. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

As I straightened, I pivoted on my heels and marched towards the dungeons. Lost as I was in my violent thoughts, I didn’t notice the padded footfalls behind me until I turned the corner. My breath caught as I saw who was following me.

“Draco.” Father strolled towards me, his grey eyes guarded.

“Why are you…”

He tilted his head, affecting a disinterested look; but I knew my father well. My shoulders tightened at his scrutiny. “I’m on my way to the library. I thought I’d accompany you since the entrance to the dungeons is on the way.”

With clenched teeth, I nodded and turned around, doubling my pace. Father kept up beside me.

As we turned the corner into an empty corridor, Father murmured. “I know.”

My feet stopped as though the stone beneath them turned to mud. Dread replaced the air in my chest.

Father stepped closer. “I know it was you who spread the rumors of the Mudblood in the area.” I froze as he circled to face me, leaning to whisper in my ear. “It’s _her_ , isn’t it?” He squared his shoulders, an alarming, feline smile on his lips.

I stared at him—my stern and formidable father. I should have known his eyes and ears in the church would uncover our plot.

Yet, I didn’t know just _how_ much he knew. I donned my mask of boredom. “Father—”

“Don’t tell me. It’s better I don’t know.”

After a moment of hesitation, I nodded and stepped past him. A vice gripped my arm, turning me back.

Lightning flashed behind my father’s eyes, the power in them a reminder of why he was so respected in the church. “Whatever it is you’re planning,” he hissed, “make sure it doesn’t come back to me or your mother.”

I yanked my arm out of his grasp. “It won’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Hermione**

It was dark, dank, and smelled of mildew. The stone walls were colored with a faint green and small rivers of water leaked from the cracks in the wall. A scant mess of hay and a mound of wet dirt were the only places I could take rest. So I stood. I was certain my kidney was bruised, it hurt to breathe, and when I licked my lips, the taste of dried blood greeted my taste buds. Standing at the iron bars in front of me were two burly guards, covered in chainmail and flowy, green tabards with roses stitched into the fabric. If they could hear me, they pretended otherwise.

I had been locked up for hours. The night fell and the moonshine cast an unearthly glow within my prison. I leaned against the wall with my hands behind me and I fought to ignore the way my throat tightened at the feel of slime against my fingers.

“Weasley, Longbottom. I require time with the prisoner to prepare her for the ritual.” That voice – God, how I missed it. Clipped, harsh, spoken through gritted molars. I was afraid to look at him, scared to see him pretending to be one of them. Fearful that I would give him away with the softness of my gaze or the relief of my sigh.

Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom were my guards. I couldn’t tell from their backs, of course, but I should have known that they would be my keepers. Ronald offered me sanctuary once, promised to keep my hidden if I would agree to stay with him in his small home and attend to his whims. When I declined, he sliced off a piece of skin from my forearm and promised that one day he’d see me flayed before him. Longbottom, on the other hand, always struck me as the type of man who never wanted the life he was given. He was gentler than his cohorts and even as Draco stood between them, glanced back at me with an expression of worry on his face. I wish I could save him, but there’s no mercy left inside of me. Not anymore.

“Leave us!” Draco bellowed when the two men refused to leave.

“Why are you the one to prepare her?” Weasley sneered and sheathed his weapon in its holster. “Do you get off on heretics, Malfoy?”

“Riddle has given me instructions to ensure she’s properly seen to before the ritual, Weasley.” Draco’s words stabbed through me. A ritual. Prepared. I am going to die. “I suggest for you to take any grievances up with our master.”

Ronald scoffed and then turned toward me. His narrowed eyes roamed my dirty dress and shoeless feet. He spit at the ground and turned to leave. When we were alone, Draco wrapped one hand around the iron bars of my cell and whispered my name so low that I wasn’t sure he’d said anything at all. I approached him, feet caked in dirt and bits of dead grass.

“Draco,” I breathed his name like it gave me life just to have the word fall from my lips.

I watched his throat bob underneath the thick cotton of his tunic. He didn’t nod so much as jut his chin forward with a sour expression on his pale face, lips pulled down at the corners. I stole a deep breath and wrapped my hand around his over the bars. He felt like ice.

“I have to dress you for – for _him_ ,” he whispered. His eyes closed and when he opened them again his expression was steel. His tone sharp and cold. He played his role in case anyone was watching. “Step back while I open your cage, wretch.”

That was when I noticed that his other hand wasn’t empty. He carried robes of rose red and a pail of water into my cell as I backed up against the wall again. I eyed him as he set the pail down at my feet.

“Take off your dress and wash your feet.” His voice hadn’t lost its edge, though I noticed it was shakier than it had been before. “The High Priest does not want a filthy heretic underneath him.”

Underneath him. I was to lay with Riddle. Beneath him. It was a ritual that stole so many peasant girls before me. And Draco – oh, God – he was going to prepare me to lie with him. I shook as I loosened the tie of my simple blue dress and let it fall around my feet.

“Ready?”

His eyes found mine. It was the first time I’d been naked in his presence without any sexual tension at all. I somehow felt that he was asking me more than what anyone could possibly hear. If he was asking if I was ready for what comes next, the answer was no. No, but I would push through it for the sake of our son. I found the strength to nod my head when no words would find their way from my lips.

“Scorpius?” It was barely an utterance, falling like a feather between us.

I couldn’t stop the tears that stung my eyes. I dabbed my foot into the pail of warm water and then scrubbed the sole of my foot on the dress at my feet. Dirt and dried blood marred the fabric. I answered Draco still keeping my eyes to the ground.

“He’s safe,” I whispered. “With Harry. He has instructions if – when – “

I swiped at my cheek and sobbed. I would never, ever see my sweet boy again. He would never know what I was willing to sacrifice if only to keep him safe, to keep him far away from a movement that sought to kill people like him, like me.

“Put on these robes.” He barked the order, just in case.

I took the clothing from his hands and stepped into it. I thought my feet would only get dirty again, but Draco crouched down and slipped a scant bit of leather over my feet. When I pulled the robe over my shoulders, I turned my back to Draco. His warm breath tickled my neck as he took the ties of the robes into his hands and pulled them tightly together. My back hit his chest and I breathed out. He was gentle then, the pads of his fingers tracing the skin of my back. All I wanted was to turn around and wrap my arms around his torso.

“Everything is in place. You will only have one chance at this. Are you ready?” His voice was in my ear as he leaned over my shoulder.

I nodded once. I would have to wait until the opportune moment. But I could do it. I could kill Tom Riddle. Hopefully, before he completed the Feast.

Draco’s hands fell away from me.

“I love you.”

The words hung in the cell until the moment they came for me.

* * *

**Draco**

I did not sleep; not with Hermione in that cold dungeon and monsters like Rookwood hovering nearby. I wandered the halls, varying my path. To the casual observer, I walked aimlessly. In truth, I surveyed the corridors that fed into the dungeons. I traced the locations of the worst Disciples—Rookwood, Greyback, Dolohov, Lestrange—making sure no one but the assigned guards would go near her cell.

When the women collected her, there was nothing else I could do. I watched, hidden in the shadows, as she was half-dragged out of the dungeons to be brought to the Feast.

“No!” She fought, but my aunt’s grip was strong.

With her free hand, Bellatrix gripped a handful of Hermione’s curls. “We only need certain parts of you intact, girl. The rest is just for His Holiness’ pleasure.”

Hermione hissed and spat in Bellatrix’s face.

“Mudblood bitch!” Bellatrix swung her arm out, catching Hermione on the cheek. She pulled Hermione up by the hair, and then signaled Pansy and Daphne to take her. Between them, they lugged Hermione down the corridor.

I stamped the urge to abandon our plan and save her from their abuse.

I knew, however, what she would say—

 _Trust me, Draco_.

And I did. My Hermione was stronger than those heartless women; she was braver and smarter than the whole damned church.

As the sounds of her struggling faded, I trudged to the ceremonial chamber. I had my own important role to play.

~0~

I stood on the dais between Pettigrew and Brother Weasley. A ceremonial stole hung over my shoulders, embroidered along the edges with roses and thorns. The garment and its inherent responsibilities had been passed down to each generation of Malfoy men—one of the highest honors in the church. My father had fulfilled this duty for over two decades; for this Feast, I begged my father to let me do the honors.

I peeked under my hood to the congregation below. Father was in the front row, his long, bright hair flowing past his hood. He studied the dais like a king surveying his subjects. He saw me staring and nodded once.

A few feet away, Riddle stepped up to the altar. He raised his arms, and the low rumble of the crowd was silenced. “Brothers.” His voice filled the chamber. “We gather to celebrate the Feast of Valentine, the day when our Lord—the Everlasting Heart, the Love Eternal—came down to slaughter the beasts that hunted our blessed people.”

“ _Blessed be the Pure_ ,” we murmured.

“Our ancestors, the pure of blood and magic, were rounded up for execution. Before the Muggles could strike a single wizard down, the Love Eternal came down from the heavens to save them.”

Rose petals fell from the ceiling, falling down like a rain of blood. We bowed our heads in unison. “ _Blessed be the Pure_.”

“He freed our ancestors of their persecutors. He elevated us and proclaimed us dominion over all beasts.”

“ _Blessed be the Pure_.”

“We, the Disciples of the Eternal, faithful servants of the Everlasting Heart, continue His work. We will cleanse the world of the filthy Muggles and their Mudblood abominations.”

My heart squeezed with strained fury. “Only the Pure are worthy,” I managed to say through clenched teeth along with the crowd.

Riddle lowered his arms, and the congregation kneeled. My nails dug into my palms, anticipating the next step in the ritual.

Hermione was brought into the chamber, Weasley and Longbottom forcing her to kneel on the altar. We formed a half-circle around the marble slab and lowered our dark green hoods. Hermione straightened her back and lifted her chin, staring down the congregation boldly. Her red robe fanned around her.

She was a rose among thorns—vibrant and beautiful and resilient. I was overwhelmed by her splendor.

The ceremony continued, and with each ritual, I battled the urge to grab Hermione and spirit her away.

Pettigrew grabbed her wrists and forced her hands into scalding water, a ritual to ‘cleanse’ of physical impurities. At the sight of her pink-tinged skin, I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted a metallic tang.

Lestrange poured oil on her hair for the ritual of spiritual cleansing. She bit back a whimper as oil poured into her eyes.

I stepped to the altar, trying to control the trembling of my fingers as I prepared her for the penultimate ritual—the Subjugation. Grabbing the rich fabric around her shoulders, I pushed down her robe, exposing her chest. With rose oil, I marked a line between her breasts over her heart.

“Love Eternal found His mark,” I murmured. Her long lashes fluttered; I glanced up and was caught in her gaze.

I pressed my palm firmly against her heart. _Are you ready?_

She nodded infinitesimally.

“Lie down,” I ordered, clear enough for the entire congregation.

Her breath hitched—my heart stuttered at the sound—but she did as I said. She lay flat against the white marble as I pushed the robe down her arms. The fabric gathered at her wrists.

Before I stepped away, I slipped the cool metal I had hidden up my long sleeve in the folds near her fingertips.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hermione**

I made sure that the blade was within reach as Draco backed away from my body. I would have precious few minutes to stab it into Tom Riddle’s throat. It all came down to that moment, the threat of being used in a ritual to appease an old, false God and whether we could end the life of a monster who haunted our dreams. I wouldn’t feel guilty for ending his life. I would do it proudly. I would do it for Scorpius.

There was a lot of chanting. It started off quietly and made its way through the chamber around me. The thrum of its energy powered through me, sped up my heartbeat and made me feel sick to my stomach. When Tom stood at my side, bile rose in my throat. He removed his robes and I wondered how he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen in the nude by all of his followers. His body was scarred, barely human in all its markings. I wanted to retch just looking at him and when he kneeled at my hip I had to force myself to keep my eyes trained on him. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be part of it. But it was our only chance, the only way to secure a future for Scorpius that meant he wouldn’t have to fight for his life at every turn.

My eyes found Draco. He ducked his chin and I stole a steadying breath.

Riddle leaned over me. His hands found the break in the ceremonial robes at my thighs and he pushed the material to the side. I brought my eyes to his black, soulless gaze and stretched my fingers over the silver knife at my side. It scraped against the stone dais where we lay and I held it up over his body. My first mistake.

As I plunged the dagger down toward his body, Riddle grabbed my forearm and held the blade away from himself. I used all of my strength, scrunched up my face, planted my feet against the cement, and twisted myself to try and fight off his hold.

He wouldn’t relent. Riddle’s face smashed down onto mine and I heard the crunch of my nose under his forehead. I cried out and lost my grip on the knife for only a second. The second was long enough. The blade clattered to the dais and then I was entirely at Riddle’s mercy.

The crowd around us murmured. They asked instructions from their master.

“Stay back!” He hissed at them without taking his eyes from me. I tried to knee him off of me. It was futile. “She belongs to _me_.”

I cried as I shoved at him, but he pushed my hands above my head. His knee pushed between my legs and I scratched at his hands, kicked at his body, twisted around in his grasp. Nothing worked. He overpowered me so very easily. It was how I was going to die, used for a ritual to cleanse the earth for this fucking cult that had ruined everything. Scorpius, Draco, Harry, Dean – everyone I loved was going to fight this war for the rest of their lives and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

His hand clawed at my thigh and I sobbed. My body fell limp.

Someone shouted above me. A spray of warm liquid splashed across my face. Riddle’s hands on me relaxed. It took a second for my brain to register the knife sticking out of his neck. When his body slumped forward, forehead thumping just shy of my head, Draco towered over the dais. His face was stitched with pure rage, bared teeth, hands covered in bright, dripping blood. He reached forward and pulled me from the dais.

“We have to go – now.”

I scrambled to stand. I couldn’t think clearly. Draco pulled me through the crowd. Hands grabbed at us. A crowd chased us. I tripped over my feet but still he didn’t relent his grip.

“We. Have. To. Go.”

“Did you – did you just –” I stumbled after him and winced as sharp rocks tore against the leather soles on my feet.

“There isn’t time, Hermione. Fucking hurry up!”

It was the first time I noticed he was shaking. His hands were slick in mine, blood and sweat mixed in the palms of his hands. His long legs carried us out of the wooden confines of the village. But I couldn’t find it in myself to be scared.

We did it.

We killed Tom Riddle.

* * *

 

**Draco**

We arrived at the stables—bruised, exhausted...and _elated_.

“We did it,” whispered Hermione. “We killed him.” She sank down the wall, a smile of disbelief on her face. A streak of dried blood under her jaw cracked and flaked.

I reached over and brushed the blood off her. “We did it,” I repeated in awe.

Her brow wrinkled as she glanced at the empty stalls. “Are you sure it’s safe for us to be here?”

I nodded. “I wiped this location from their memories—the men who hunted you down. And from Dolohov. Pettigrew. They were the only ones who knew about this place.”

Hermione sighed, a long and heavy release. When she opened her eyes, there was a lightness to them I’d never seen before. “We’re free.”

Her words lifted a weight off my chest, and for the first time in my life, I could _breathe_.

Riddle was gone; without his leadership and fanaticism, the Church of Valentine would crumble. My Muggleborn love and half-blood son would no longer be persecuted.

I could spend every day with my son. He would no longer look at me like I was a stranger.

We could finally be together as a fami

* * *

 

**Scorpius**

That was all. The journal cut off, but it didn’t stop Scorpius from turning the page anyway to see if somehow, miraculously, something else was written. He knew the story, knew the fate of his parents, and yet, he tried to find more of his parents’ words in the little journal.

He stole a breath.

“What’s next, Scorpius?” A squeaky, teenaged voice asked him excitedly.

Scorpius glanced to the half-circle around him. All the children his age, the newest recruits in the fight against Valentine’s Disciples. A war that should have been over. A war that had already taken so much from him. He wet his lips and flipped the journal closed and rested his forearm on top of it as he leaned into the group of recruits.

“That’s it,” he told them hoarsely. “Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were murdered after killing Tom Riddle.”

Something in his chest tightened at saying the words out loud. He knew the story, he had to remind himself. Wishing for another outcome wouldn’t change anything – that’s what Harry always told him.

“They _died_?” A young girl with black hair asked with a wobbly lower lip. “That’s a horrible story!”

“No!” Scorpius shouts at the recruit and then lowers his voice. “It’s important to understand their sacrifice. You must understand – these two heroes killed the most evil man to live. They ended one of the darkest parts of the age.”

“But,” a redhead boy spoke up and chewed on his lip, “but why are we still at war if the leader was killed fifteen years ago?”

Scorpius laughed, a humorless thing that hung in the air of the small tent they were cramped in.

“The death of Tom Riddle created a power void. With no one leading the Disciples after his death, it created chaos. Bands of Disciples who carry out evil in the name of their sacrificed leader Tom Riddle.” Scorpius spat the name. “They’re growing bolder every single day. Worse now that Lucius Malfoy has officially succeeded Riddle.”

“They killed my dad,” a little girl with braids in her hair said sadly. “Harry said that my dad was one of the bravest men he ever knew, but all I remember is that his name was Dean and he… died.”

Scorpius stood and clasped the ratty journal in his hands. Harry entered the tent, ducking his head under the low frame, and stood to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. He smiled at Scorpius, a silent encouragement to continue.

“By our calculations, there are only a handful of followers of the High Priest left. After Malfoy, the worst of them is Bellatrix Lestrange. She’s been quite mad ever since her husband was killed by The Order.”

“Isn’t that how Lady McGonagall lost her arm?”

“I heard she tortured Baron Zabini until he went mad!”

A murmur broke out amongst the new recruits. Scorpius settled them with shushing sounds and glanced helplessly to Harry, who did nothing to step in and help.

“Yes.” He caught the worried eyes of each of the legacy children and nodded. “That is why it’s important that we continue what our parents have started, that we finish their war, and take out the cult once and for all. No one else will ever suffer the way that our elders have. We’ll never lose family ever again.”

The words had the desired effect. The legacy children all nodded their agreement, whispered to each other with vindication laced in their words. They would wear the mantle of their elders. They would end the war that their parents – Scorpius’ parents – could not.

They filed out of the tent, but Scorpius stayed behind with Harry who clapped him on the shoulder. His piercing green eyes held his gaze and he stayed quiet for several moments. So many memories, a plethora of feelings, thrummed between them. Scorpius swallowed and fidgeted with the journal in his hands.

“Those kids look up to you,” Harry said finally as his hand fell away from Scorpius’ shoulder. “You have a way of motivating them.”

Scorpius half-smiled and glanced to the ground, unable to hold Harry’s intense gaze. “I – I _miss_ them, Harry. I can barely remember mum. And dad is almost like a figment of my imagination. I—”

Scorpius’ eyes stung with tears and he swiped at his eyes furiously. He didn’t want to cry over them, not anymore. He’d done enough of that over the past fifteen years. He’d lived more of his life without them now than with them and it hurt just as intensely as it did when Harry first told him what happened to his parents.

“They loved you so much, Scorpius.” Harry’s voice was quiet, almost a mumble as he eyed the journal in Scorpius’ hands. “I knew them well. Your mum was my best friend. When she found Draco, something about her changed. She was happier, she fought harder.”

His tears fell freely. Scorpius both wanted to hear more and didn’t want Harry to continue. His heart was a slow, steady beat against his sternum and his stomach was knotted in his gut. Hearing about his parents was the hardest part of the war, and it felt awful to think so.

“Scorpius, your parents –”

God, how he wished those words would be followed by ‘are alive and in hiding’. His heart soared for a split second, and then crashed down again.

“They would have been so proud of the man you’ve become.” Harry dug his thumb into his shoulder and stood awkwardly staring at him for several moments. He ducked his chin, offered a tiny smile, and then exited the tent the same way he came in.

Scorpius stayed behind and wiped at his eyes. He placed the journal to his forehead and spoke to his parents, much like he’d done every day since he’d received their journal out of the stables they’d been discovered murdered in all those years ago. Perched on an old cot, Scorpius cracked open the journal to page one again, and smiled down at his mother’s curvy handwriting.

_It’s been four weeks since I saw him last. Four weeks since our eyes met for the last time. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and so my heart’s devotion will only grow stronger over time._

_It beats for two now._

_I can’t wait to tell Draco ——_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments/Kudos are greatly appreciated!


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